


swoon

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bad Therapy, Lipstick, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I feel like—some sort of painted china doll," Will says. He has to shove his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to wipe it all off on the back of his hand.</p><p>"You look," Hannibal says, voice serious, "exquisite."</p>
            </blockquote>





	swoon

Hannibal had painted his lips with expert care, tracing the contours of Will's mouth with an air of great concentration. He'd tested out three or four shades on Will's lips before settling on a deep, muted red that he said brought out the color in his cheeks beautifully. Will had blushed, and Hannibal had run a finger along the underside of his jaw and said, _Exactly_.

"I still don't see what the point of this is," Will mutters, overly conscious of the slick lipstick every time he speaks. He's uncomfortable, and too aware of his mouth.

Hannibal regards him with fond amusement, and Will squirms and looks away. "It makes you uncomfortable."

"I feel like—some sort of painted china doll," Will says. He has to shove his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to wipe it all off on the back of his hand.

"You look," Hannibal says, voice serious, "exquisite." He pauses, looking considering, and says, "Come here, Will," patting his thigh.

"You're not serious," Will says, a laugh in his voice.

Hannibal quirks an eyebrow. "Quite."

"Don't be ridiculous," Will says, but he finds himself rising anyway, drifting closer. Hannibal makes a pleased sort of noise and settles a hand on Will's hip, tugging him forward gently, and Will—lets it happen, lets his weight settle in Hannibal's lap. He laughs a little, a nervous, high-pitched thing.

Hannibal's fingers are light where they stroke along Will's jaw, down his neck, rest there against his pulse. "Mouthwatering," he says softly, and Will blushes again. "You'll wear this shade more often."

"I—Dr. Lecter, I'm not going to wear lipstick out in public," Will says, twitching slightly, but not quite able to bring himself to pull away from the hand on his neck. "I feel absurd enough as it is." He shivers, aware suddenly of how cold it is in the office. His shirt lies crumpled on his chair where Hannibal had dropped it before raising the tube of lipstick to his lips, and he glances back over his shoulder at it.

"It doesn't have to be sexual, you know," Hannibal says, and Will turns back, startled.

"I'm sorry?"

"The lipstick. You think of it as sexually charged, and it alarms you. It needn't. You have a lovely mouth, and it deserves to have attention drawn to it." He lifts his thumb to Will's chin, tipping it up.

Their eyes meet, and Will is helpless to tear his gaze away. "This feels," he murmurs, "pretty sexual."

Hannibal smiles, looking absolutely delighted with him. Like he's a dog who's done a trick well. He lifts a hand to the top of Will's spine, runs it gently down, fingering each raised bone, and Will shudders. "I won't deny, you are quite tempting like this," Hannibal says. "Would you begrudge me just a taste?"

Will stares at him, doesn't move, and Hannibal curls a hand around the back of his head, leaning in, dangerously close, and then his lips are on Will's, pressing softly against him, lingering. A caress, more than a kiss. When he pulls away, his lips are faintly stained with lipstick. It's worryingly attractive.

"Delicious," Hannibal murmurs, stroking a thumb over Will's cheekbone. "Would you mind if I...?"

Will nods helplessly, not even sure what he's agreeing to, but then Hannibal is leaning in again, lips against his neck, sucking until his skin blooms a dark red bruise. And—well, it's not like they haven't been dancing around this for God knows how long, like every nearly accidental brush of their skin together hadn't sent goosebumps down his spine. Like every time those pale eyes had peered at him, studying him, he hadn't been imagining them studying his naked body, treating it with the same amount of care Hannibal does his mind.

Hannibal's raising another bruise on his throat, and his mouth is _wicked_ , nipping and sucking, licking up the side of his neck. Leaves Will short of breath, arching his back and squirming in Hannibal's lap.

"I like it when you wriggle," Hannibal tells him, breathes it into his neck. "It reminds me that you're alive."

Which is just—equal parts frightening and _hot_ in all the best ways.

"You deserve to be appreciated, Will," Hannibal says, undoing the zipper of his jeans. "Your mind, of course, is a precious thing, but your mind belongs to your body, does it not? And your body—" punctuated by his hand slipping into Will's jeans and palming him through his underwear— "ought to be worshipped."

"Are you offering to worship it, then?" Will says, can't quite help himself.

"That is precisely what I am intending to do," Hannibal says, nipping the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. "If all I wanted from you was sex—was the fulfillment of my own pleasure—I could have had it, easily. I don't think you would be capable of resisting had I chosen to simply _take_." He grinds upward lightly, tugging Will down against him. "What I want is to find out what you look like when you come undone. What I want is to bring you clarity."

He speaks the last words directly against Will's mouth, sharing breath for a few moments, before pressing upward and crushing Will's lips beneath his own. Will gasps and presses into it almost desperately, letting Hannibal's tongue ravage his mouth, nearly whimpering when Hannibal strokes him again. He can feel the lipstick smeared across his mouth, so far from the neat painting it had been before. It leaves him feeling as ruined and disheveled as he's sure his mouth looks now, and this worries him.

"I—" he starts, "fuck, I'm not—I don't—" There's a reluctance in him that he can't quite give a name to, a fear, really. Fear that this is something he won't be able to come back from, that Hannibal is on the verge of waking something inside him, something he's been doing his best to keep locked away in the dark.

"Dear Will," Hannibal says, sounding admonishing at his hesitance. "There's no need to be afraid. There's no shame in letting someone else see." He reaches into Will's boxers, fingers his dick, and Will lets out a little whine.

"Please," he says, "I can't, please—" A protest, of sorts, even as he pushes his hips into it. "I can't, _please_."

"Starved for touch, aren't you?" Hannibal whispers, dragging his lips up Will's jaw to his ear, teeth at his earlobe. "Unwilling to let anyone else lay a hand on you, and yet you're so _hungry_ for it. Such an appetite, Will." His fingers trail over Will's bicep, testing the muscle there, run lightly down his arm to his wrist, feel his pulse thrumming. "You want someone to see you, loathe as you are to admit it. And I assure you, I am more than eager to see all the parts of you you try to hide."

His touch is well-practiced, and it's as though he's inside Will, manipulating his nervous system to draw out each little mewling cry, each shamed thrust of his hips. He strokes and squeezes, cups Will's balls, traces a thumbnail over his slit, murmuring words of praise and encouragement, telling him how lovely he looks like this, how delightfully responsive he is. "So sweet," Hannibal tells him, satisfaction evident in his voice.

"Oh God," Will says, voice cracking, even as he leans forward to bury his face in Hannibal's neck, "I'm going to— _fuck_ —" He comes with a low, shaking sob, lipstick smearing over Hannibal's throat, staining it red. Hannibal holds him through the aftershocks, long fingers stroking through his hair, gentle brush of lips at his temple. Hums in a satisfied sort of way, tucks Will closer into his arms.

—

Hannibal cleans the smeared lipstick off them both with a handkerchief that he tucks back into his pocket when he's done. Will isn't sure whether to find it weird or romantic.

He insists on reapplying it to Will's lips before he leaves. Pushes him down onto the couch and straddles his hips, cupping the back of his head with one hand, the other tenderly pressing the lipstick against his mouth. He strokes a hand down Will's throat and rests it there, as if measuring Will's reaction to their proximity.

"You'll wear this for me again," he says, tucking the tube into Will's front pocket, and it's a command, not a request. Will shivers.

**Author's Note:**

> from [this prompt](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=860767#cmt860767) on the kinkmeme
> 
> i guess i'm a bad person now
> 
> a ps: probably later will finds the lipstick in his pocket and stares at it for a while and then just.......casually wears it to work  
> beverly is like 'excuse me are u wearing lipstick' and will is like 'no' and no one says anything about it ever again but everyone has distressing wet dreams about him forever


End file.
